


One Flesh, One End:  A Diptych

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Betrayal, Friendship, Loyalty, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: Two variations on a theme
Relationships: Augustine the First/John Gaius | Necrolord Prime/Mercymorn the First
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Putting Your Mouth on God’s Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pasiphile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/gifts).



> Titles of the story and chapters and the opening lines of the first chapter taken from The Locked Tomb Trilogy and associated works.

_“But it was only—”_

_“The once? Yes, one evening planned down to the ground for five hundred years.”_

Inside his own head, he’s always just John, never Gaius or Necrolord Prime or, himself forbid, God. But to everyone else John is God, which to be fair, he definitely arranged that situation 100% on purpose, but being God is a relatively lonely gig. Fear, awe, adoration—not really conducive to meaningful relationships established on equal footing.

And it’s not like he can always count on his inner circle for the companionship he craves. Some of them are just as likely to be at each other’s throats as they are standing at his back.

Tonight is one of those rare nights when Mercy and Augustine are getting along for once, so rare that John has to go back centuries in his memories to find a comparable moment. Granted, getting along for these two involves a fair amount of bickering and not-so-veiled threats and rude remarks, but as long as no one is actually bleeding, John is satisfied.

“You don’t have the balls,” Mercy says to Augustine. Mercy’s hair looks like a frozen sunrise piled atop her head. Her hair always reminds John of dawn and apocalyptic fire and withering roses. John has lost the thread of the conversation, though; he has no idea what Mercy is talking about.

Augustine says, “How’s this for balls?” and then he kisses her—just plants his lips on her lips and fits the knobs of her shoulders inside the cups of his palms and kisses the hell out of her. And then Mercy reaches out and hooks John under the collar and reels him in, and they’re both kissing John before he can even begin to react.

At first, John doesn’t understand what’s happening. After all, who would ever dare to fuck God? Surely no one not encased in ice and locked away from the real world for all eternity. But by the time his pants are down around his ankles, he has to conclude that the three of them are indeed fucking.

It all happens very quickly. John almost feels like someone has set a countdown, and Mercy and Augustine are racing to get everyone off before the timer dings. John wants to tell them to slow down, to take their time, but he’s afraid of calling attention to the extremely surprising sex they seem to be having. He’s just grateful to be touching someone and for someone to be touching him back. John doesn’t want them to stop.

For a brief, glorious instant John loses himself in their bodies; he forgets all of it—the death, the destruction, the power he wrested from the bones of the universe—and becomes just a man. And then everything is over, and Mercy is rolling away and heading into John’s bathroom. John supposes they all should clean up a bit, but he can’t be bothered to move, not with Augustine spooned up so warmly behind him. Mercy returns and curls her back into John’s stomach, and he falls asleep sandwiched between them. When he wakes up the next morning, they have gone, and John is cold.


	2. The One Thing That Never Stays Entombed

The Sleeper follows Harrow, and Palamedes’s bubble remains intact. It seems much smaller than it did before now that Palamedes knows he’s been dead for eight months instead of the weeks he’s been imagining, now that he is once again alone in the monotony of an unchanging environment. He would say that he loses all sense of time after Harrow leaves, but apparently he never had it to begin with.

Palamedes is filled with an uncomfortable sense of anticipation, of waiting for something unspecified, and so he tries his best to distract himself with what little he has at hand.

He wasn’t kidding when he told Harrow he was writing the sequel to _The Necromancer’s Marriage Season_. Abella Trine deserves better than a boring widower; he kills him off tragically so Abella can finally go to sexy parties with the spoiled swordswoman of her dreams. Palamedes isn’t exactly sure what happens at sexy parties, never having been to one himself (or any parties really, never mind the sexy part), and he suspects the game of strip necromancy he invented is a bit on the tame side, but he’s pleased with the sexual tension he’s able to achieve in the party scenes.

When that’s finished, Palamedes turns to reupholstering the dying chair. Taking apart a few pillows to repurpose their stuffing and fabric is a matter of moments, but crafting a needle and thread takes him much, much longer. The end product is a Frankenstein of textiles and textures; it will win no beauty contests, but it’s so much more comfortable than before. Palamedes has just settled into its squishy depths to start drafting the adventures of Abella and Euphonia’s oldest daughter, when someone knocks on the door.

Palamedes freezes in the chair, his hands white knuckled on the armrests, as the door slowly creaks open. An elderly woman who looks strangely familiar steps into his bubble. She smiles at him, and then Palamedes realizes that this old woman is somehow Camilla.

Camilla takes one look at his face, looks down at herself, and says, “Oh, right.” Palamedes blinks, and she’s young again, looking exactly the way she did in his last memory of her. “That’s much better,” Camilla says. “Not to be insensitive to your situation, but getting old is a bitch.”

“How did you get here? You shouldn’t be here,” Palamedes says stupidly.

“I had help.” Camilla doesn’t elaborate.

Palamedes doesn’t know what to say. Clearly more than eight months have passed since his last visitor, a lot more. He has so many questions about what’s happened in his absence and so many things he wants to say to Camilla that he never said while he was alive. He’s not sure where to start. Fortunately, Camilla knows exactly what to do, like always. She pulls him into a hug; Palamedes buries his face in her hair and tries desperately not to cry all over her. He’s only moderately successful.

“This is a rescue mission,” Camilla says into his shoulder. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Palamedes pulls back. “What are you talking about?”

“Trying to explain would take too long. The short version is that Abigail found something on the other side of the River. Somewhere better, and everyone’s waiting for us there.”

“Abigail?” The only Abigail Palamedes knows is also dead. “Abigail Pent? And what do you mean the other side of the River?”

Camilla takes a step back and thrusts out her hand between them. “We’re wasting time, Palamedes. Do you trust me?”

Does he trust Camilla? With his life, with his afterlife, with everything.

Palamedes takes her hand.


End file.
